


the fifth barbarian

by caesarions



Series: WANTON, or, the silk road love triangle [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Multi, tl;dr romulus is a bitch and everyone hates him including himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 11:44:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12365043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caesarions/pseuds/caesarions
Summary: The Crisis of the Third Century is just beginning, and, surprisingly, the Germans are not the problem yet. Germania enters the city for business with Rome, but another visitor steals his attention instead. The two parallels vividly discuss the one man they both share.





	the fifth barbarian

**Author's Note:**

> TITLE: only china is so extra as to have a concept called the 'four barbarians'. eh, actually, the greeks were still worse. the 'five barbarians' exist too, but that is a much newer concept at this point and refers to more specific groups. i'm not gonna say illuminati or anything, but maybe germania predicted their rise. u ever think about that ?
> 
> NAMES:
> 
> china - wang min (clever king)
> 
> rome - lucius marius priscus romulus (shining; of mars or masculine; ancient; the mythical founder, 'mr. rome')
> 
> persia - ardashir (one whose reign is based on honesty and justice)
> 
> germania - alaric (ruler of all)
> 
> greece - helen (bright, the mythological founder)
> 
> egypt - sekhet (the powerful one, a goddess)

**235 AD, Rome, Lazio**

* * *

 Alaric’s sluggish stomps echoed unresponsively against the empty _domus_. The Romans’ continued grandeur when all a man needed was a hut would drive Alaric crazy to no end. As a lifestyle, the Roman way was insulting at best and destructive at worst.

Strands of dirty yellow hair swung from side to side as the German walked the memorized path. It _had_ to be committed to memory, otherwise, Alaric would have forgotten the location entirely, wandering the marble halls like a pale ghost.   He was supposed to meet Romulus in his study. It was one of the only locations in the _domus_ Alaric knew, other than the atrium, courtyard, and bedroom.

Romulus' sudden pleas to meet after almost sixty years of peace were actually quite grating. There was no room for trust in their relationship, but the instant, acerbic suspicion was still unearned. Alaric cared not what else was going on or how scattered and paranoid Romulus had become. He was not the only cause, and he would not be the only plague to end. Personally, this farce of a meeting could end any unpleasant way it wanted to, in Alaric's mind. They always did.

But, after willingly meeting Ardashir in the Persian's own home and groveling like a dog for niceties, Alaric knew Romulus was just itching to build his ego back up. 

When Alaric entered the study, stone-faced, everything was in order in the square room as he remembered it. The dark lattice shelves held as much literature as usual, the gaudy floor pristine, the grandiose desk full of paperwork. However, it was not the Roman waiting for him.

The wooden desk was deprived of its usual stocky, hairy inhabitant. Instead, a bony man with smooth, porcelain skin was lying across a sofa, his back-length corvine hair falling with grace, almost as if it was placed intentionally. Despite the hair—much smoother than Alaric’s own—it was obviously a man, from the squared shoulders to his upturned nose pressed in a scroll.

Alaric’s first assumption was a whore. He knew how customers liked them in Rome. Though Romulus was stupid, he wasn’t stupid enough to let whores even touch his study, much less squat in his home for too long. Only if he was feeling _very_ alone.

When the small man finally looked up at him, Alaric changed his mind. His eyes evaluated Alaric up and down so quickly that it almost gave Alaric whiplash. The almond shape was more extreme than even Sekhet’s, and the dark pupils were shrewd enough to make Alaric shrink back. His face was innocent enough, full-cheeked, flat and round, but something in the arch of his brow read imperial. Though it was unlike anything Alaric had ever seen before, the other man was the one analyzing him as Alaric stood quiet.

“Oh,” the man finally spoke, a disappointed tone falling from plump peach lips. How had Alaric missed those? But he had immediately spoken in the nation tongue for his expletive, and Alaric’s face had brightened in return. Taking in this new information, the pair stared expressionless at each other from across the room, somewhere between hostility and neutrality.

Suddenly, the stranger let the scroll dangle dramatically from one slender hand. “You are his northern barbarian.”

Centuries of experience in the Mediterranean had prepared Alaric for conversations like these, allowing him to focus his effort on other areas. Helen’s shrill voice still beat down on the back of his mind, though, a constant headache. He huffed. “I prefer just Alaric.”

“Oh, I am sure you do,” the man sighed, rolling onto his side and waving his arm dismissively. “I meant _his_ as in _not mine_ , relative to barbarians. They are quite different. Such a variety these days.” Peeking out from behind a veil of black strands, the man tilted his head. “I pictured you angrier. And more tan.”

Alaric’s face tightened. “Who are you?”

Well, _that_ got the man’s interest. He finally sat up, pushing a flood of hair to one side, chin resting almost childishly on his knees. “Romulus’ counterpart to the East. Without our Qín, his name of Great Qín would mean nothing. I end the road in his view, and begin it in mine. If I have heard of you, you must have heard of me.”

Of course, Romulus was always writing those letters. Alaric vaguely remembered a time where Romulus was occupied for months by a foreign visitor some 20 years ago. He was even wearing the light, watery material the Roman would not shut up about, pooling about the man in grand skirts. Romulus would mention empires in the East in passing, though they were almost exclusively referred to by their exports, and Alaric was unsure he had ever met one. But, if he truly hadn’t, then this man had come a long way to squat in a house.

“Your name,” Alaric tried again with a growl.

The strange man tilted his head. “I am Min,” he said easily. Somehow, Alaric had expected more. After a second, he realized Min’s eyes had hardened to flint again, and Alaric spoke up under the pressure. “Yes, I’ve heard of you.”

“Yes, I know,” Min shrugged. When Alaric blinked owlishly, Min swung his legs around to the front and leaned against the back of the couch. “Romulus told me what he’s said of me to everyone. He said he has not shown you a single letter, correct?”

Brows scrunched, Alaric folded his arms. “Where is he?”

“I _would_ rather he not; some of them can get pretty scandalous,” Min sighed, folding an arm over his chest like it was an ordeal. “I would never repeat their content in front of even the prime minister. And, well, let’s see. He had no government work today, and he does not visit any brothels while I am here… He must be buying me tea in the market. He will be back soon if you are patient.”

After seconds of conversation, Alaric’s entire energy reserve had been drained. This was worse than Romulus and Helen attacking him at once, the small Min actually a bear compared to their two annoying wasps. Was he truly playing cat-and-mouse games with a group of tribes halfway across the world, one he would never see again? Alaric pinched the bridge of his noise as a migraine set in. “What?”

Min pouted, sliding his way down to the front of the couch. “Well, he did it the first time I was here. It was awful, but I could not say anything because it was such a sweet gesture. He just wanted to give me a taste of home after I mentioned missing it, and I really did appreciate the effort.” Min smiled off-puttingly, saccharine without even showing teeth. “But it was so stale. All Roman tea is stale. But I do not tell him that. I shut up and drink it because it would break his sensitive heart.”

Alaric could only stare ahead, his brain creaking as it tried to comprehend. If Romulus was not around, then he should just leave, but he could not even look at the door. Instead, the German crossed his arms. “He is your… delivery boy?”

“He can be whatever he wants to be,” Min shrugged with a grin. “And whatever suits me.”

“You do not consider him an equal?” Alaric asked.

Min’s eyes expanded in surprise. “I never said that.”

“Oh,” Alaric hummed, giving a gruff nod. “Makes perfect sense.”

Lying on the couch arm now, Min grinned vaguely, only with the corner of his lips. “I know he gives you trouble. I do not believe everything he says, as no one believes everything I say, nor should they. The relationship between barbarian and empire is a rocky one. Why have you not dealt with him?”

Hot memories of war flashed through Alaric’s mind, almost splitting it in two. It was a few seconds before the German regained the capacity to answer. Blinking crystal blue eyes, he squinted at Min. His hand settled on his swordbelt. “Have I not?”

“Bother his soldiers for a bit? Poke at them with sticks?” Min twirled a strand of hair around a bony finger. “I hardly think so. Warfare is my least favorite option. You would do well to try getting into his mind, instead.”

Again, Alaric blinked. “Have I not?”

“Not hardly,” Min pouted. This one-sided conversation was going in circles. “Have you not thought about getting his ego to rely solely on you? Rewarding him for good behavior and weeding out the bad? Certainly you have tried, even if not with sexual favors. Training can be as simple as ignoring him in the right situations. When is the last time he bought you a gift?”

Alaric’s frozen face cracked for a second, a scowl forming. “I could think of nothing worse.”

“ _I_ could,” Min scoffed in return. “He is really quite handsome, you know. Even with the enormous nose. I thought it would prevent us from kissing.”

His eyes sealed shut against the unfortunate mental image. The gloved hand not on his swordbelt opened and closed, the leather squeeze the only sound in the room. Finally, he asked, “But not dangerous.”

“Oh, speak up; I am old,” Min complained. “Him or the process? It has never failed me. Coming from another empire, it is the only way to deal with us. We are not ourselves anymore, or perhaps we never were.”

Alaric swore he could feel his eye twitching. “I meant him.”

“Not particularly,” Min singsonged, shrugging languidly. “I cannot compare. Romulus has less casualties and _far_ less tragedies, but he has less people and has only been around for a small blip in the timeline.”

Folding his hands together, Alaric failed to mention he himself had been around for shorter.

Min dropped his hair from his hand, his voice soft. “His rise baffles me. I thought everyone went straight from a kingdom to an empire. It was a chaotic chain of events, most likely not ordained by the gods. Gods, I was a preteen for two thousand years! Sometimes, he feels like a boy wearing his father’s shoes.”

“He’s a fluke,” Alaric offered in simpler terms.

“I would never say that,” Min huffed, eyes shining so convincingly, he might have actually been offended. “His strength is not a lie. It catches me off-guard, sometimes. But the fact that _this_ has been his greatest trial so far gives me hope for his survival. The Warring States makes this looks like child's play.”

Alaric was smart enough to know _this_ referred to the third century. He only knew somewhat of the death of the Severans and the start of revolts, especially among his own people, part of the reason Alaric had been called to Rome. Romulus was desperate. He knew that talking to each other would aggravate each other instead of keeping the peace, and they would be at it again soon enough. Yet, Alaric was still here. And Min was still here despite the troubles. “You have been through worse?”

“Undoubtedly,” Min laughed, high and silvery. “Romulus is a kitten compared to the tigers I am used to. I pity him in that way. I do hope he is never exposed to worse, but it is the nature of nations to experience all forms of despair.”

“Uplifting,” Alaric growled. “You hold no high opinion of him.”

“Oh, you’re so dull!” Min huffed in a sudden outburst. His arms crossed petulantly. “Of course I do! It is also the nature of nations to survive, or perhaps only empires. An empire's special talent is coming back from the dead. The longevity of the East gives me hope he can endure it all.”

The German stilled considerably. “We’ll see.”

Ignoring the temperature drop in the room, Min flipped himself over onto his back, craning his neck to stare at Alaric upside down. Ink-black ribbons fell almost to the floor. “You could teach him a thing or two, you know. My barbarians are never any help. I do not even remember most of their names. We never bantered or learned from each other—my army would have improved with or without them, and they died and reformed in a continuous cycle. You two, on the other hand, are closer than I will ever achieve with the outsiders in my history.”

Alaric’s face was pulled into a deep grimace. “Don’t see how.”

“Just teach Romulus things about himself,” Min ignored him, waving a hand. “Challenge him, wear him out sometimes.” For once, Min fell quiet, staring off into the lattice shelves. “Learn how to build relationships. Not all of them can end badly.”

After a minute of pregnant silence, Alaric shook his hair out. He was left unsure if Min had just treated him better or worse than the Mediterraneans did. His advice was as cryptic as the gods’, his body language read flippant and condescending, but it was still a conversation. He eyed Min without curiousity as the other man rolled his scroll up.

“By the way, I see he has a type,” Min observed as he sat up. A shrug caused waves of pitch black hair to cascade like night waters over Min’s shoulders. Alaric pulled at a pale straw strand of his own. “Not that I can be jealous of a man across the world from me. Not even _I_ am that dramatic.”

Min gave Alaric no time to answer before kicking his legs out and jumping into a standing position. The motion revealed a flash of white cotton pantlegs under his silk skirts, and Alaric’s eyes went wide, his lips parting.

“You’re wearing real pants.”

Min raised an incredulous, thick brow at him as he put the scroll back on the wall. “What? It is cold where I live.” When Alaric said nothing, Min let the realization dawn on his face, then smirked. “Yeah, I’m not stupid.”

Alaric folded his arms behind his back and nodded in parting. Min was kind enough to reciprocate the goodbye before the rattling parchment of another scroll signaled Alaric’s dismissal. As he left, Alaric moved his hands to the front and flexed his gloved hands. His lips almost twisted into something they did not know how to form.


End file.
